


Draw my fears

by Polka9048



Category: IT (1990), IT - Stephen King, Knives Out (2019), Stranger Things (TV 2016), The Goldfinch (2019), The Goldfinch - Donna Tartt, The Lodge (UK TV), The Turning (2020)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Character Analysis, F/M, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, I'm Sorry, Phobias, Rough Sex, Sex, Sex in a Car, Shower Sex, Underage Sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-06
Updated: 2020-04-07
Packaged: 2021-03-01 22:20:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 11
Words: 19,187
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23514565
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Polka9048/pseuds/Polka9048
Summary: The hobby of photography has never been anything serious for an  eighteen-year-old Chris, but when his closest person - his mother - gets into intensive care and needs expensive medication, the hobby becomes the only way to help her.  Chris gets into a magazine without even knowing who to thank for it and what this person means in his life.
Kudos: 2





	1. Smoking is not for you

Autumn in Sydney is a real gift for the photographer: the streets are shrouded in fog, the paths are so wet that they reflect the light of lanterns. There are Halloween decorations and children in fancy costumes everywhere. But for people who are not involved in the art of photography or, at least, painting, autumn is associated only with bad weather and a terrible mood.  
Fortunately, Chris was a photographer and saw a special charm in this mysterious time of year, which, in his opinion, was strongly manifested at night. The sight of fading nature, coupled with the end of the day, made him feel a special longing that, for some inexplicable reason, he liked. He could have sat there forever, admiring the touching beauty of the sleeping city, but his attention was drawn to a noise somewhere very close by. A girl was climbing to the roof of the small house where Chris lived. When she saw the young man who obviously recognized her, she nodded and motioned for him to open the window.  
— Lea, are you out of your mind?—Chris helped her up, giving her a surprised look. Climbing into a neighbor's window at 11 a.m. is not an ordinary activity.  
— I'm here to smoke. My mother has arranged for my pockets to be cleaned, so I'll leave my cigarettes with you — she said lightly, brushing off the dirt.  
— You think my mother doesn't check my pockets?  
"No, of course not. You're such a good boy, the best player on the team, — she sang, patting Chris on the cheek.  
— I see you know a lot about me.  
— When you're in a class with nerds who jerk off on a photo of big foot, it's hard not to know about you, — Lea said with a wry smile as she took a cigarette from the pack and adjusted her slightly disheveled hair, which was cut in a square. — Want some?  
Chris's eyes lit up.  
— I do  
— just kidding — the girl snorted, leaning on the corner of the bed, and Chris's gaze involuntarily fell on her slender legs, covered with mesh tights.  
He sat down next to her, forcing himself to stare at the ceiling. He rarely wanted to smoke, except in her presence. Lea sat up and squared her shoulders like a butterfly.  
— Relax, — she whispered, her hands resting on the shoulders of a young boy.  
A roll of nicotine in her thin hands, plump bitten lips, and brown eyes that reflected the moon — as irregular and unsightly as the girl herself. It looked inspiring. The soft touch of his lips, the exhalation of white smoke, and a sharp coughing fit. Chris couldn't understand why his vision was suddenly dark and his head was spinning. Whether from the light touch of a girl's lips, or from the strong tobacco in cheap cigarettes.  
— I knew you were a good boy. Smoking is not your business.  
— I just haven't smoked in a long time.  
Lea stood up, not even straightening the hem of her short black skirt, and tossed the butt of her cigarette out into the night. — Don't cum in your pants from the sight of a woman's thighs.  
It disappeared as quickly and unexpectedly as it had appeared, leaving the room with a pungent smell of nicotine and a bitterness on the tip of Chris's tongue. Well, that was her style.  
***  
It always seemed to Leia that the magazine editorial office was a pretentious office filled with a lot of strange employees, incessant keyboard clicks, and the slightly dizzy smell of coffee. But this was not the case: the employees were sitting in their offices, and the reception area was uncomfortably quiet. The receptionist looked at Leia as if She were naked instead of wearing pantyhose.  
— Our boss, Mr. Blythe, asked you to come in. He wants to meet a new employee, — she said, giving Leia a disapproving look.  
— OK, thank you, — the girl headed towards the massive black door with a sign "Director", on the way tucking the top into dark trousers, so as not to cause unnecessary questions.  
—Excuse me, may I?—  
— Come in — said a rather young voice. It is unlikely that there is a heavy man sitting there, surrounded by piles of papers. Lea slowly opened the door, and in front of her was a young, pretty guy in a light shirt, typing something on a computer.  
— You wanted to give some task? Mr. Blythe turned his bored brown eyes on the girl and brightened visibly.  
— yes, but first, sit down —he was a well-groomed, confident young man with curly hair, full lips, and a sprinkling of freckles on his pale skin. The girl sat down in the chair next to the Desk.  
— Closer, don't be shy! There is a very comfortable sofa here, — the tone was rather soft, but it did not Bode well.  
— Thank you for your concern, but I can see and hear you perfectly well, — Lea replied, narrowing her eyes and putting on a fake tight smile. Blythe chuckled, biting his lip:  
—I thought you'd understand... All right, then, let's be blunt: young secretaries are something new for our organization, you know?  
— I know, but I'm not a whore.— Straight enough?"  
— I didn't say you were a whore, it's just hard to succeed as a regular Secretary right now.  
— Don't worry, I'll live.  
— I would fire you, of course, but who knows what life will throw up if you change your mind, — the young man smiled wryly.  
— Can I go?  
— go — Blythe followed Leia with a longing look and returned to work.  
***  
School friends. For each person, this means something different, someone called these people just classmates, and someone good friends.  
Chris couldn't call himself one of the pretties half the school was chasing. He was dealing with ordinary guys, just like him, who had no privileges. For example, Sean's family recently moved from Iran to Blackpane because their parents wanted to give their children at least a good secondary education. He wasn't bullied for it at school, and he didn't look like a typical Iranian. His dark, straight hair and green eyes, combined with his pale skin, were very unusual. Looking at his friend, Chris didn't understand why Lea had been dynamiting him for two years. But the fact that he was not indifferent to Leah since fifth grade, for anybody not a secret.  
Peggy was a childhood friend of Leia and Chris, but then the latter left for a few years in France, in their native country, and the only thing that the guy had to do was to piece together the broken heart of Peggy from the unexpected move of her friend. It was difficult to evaluate her as a girl, because Chris had spent all his childhood with her and, having discussed all the most intimate secrets, could not have looked at her from a different angle. For him, she would always be a girl with her favorite black horn-rimmed glasses and mesmerizing blue eyes.  
The schoolyard was a secret meeting place for Chris and his friends. The company always sat at their favorite table next to a large banner advertising a photography course. This place was a little farther away than the others, and a tree at a little distance cast a shadow directly on the table, and Chris, hiding there from the Intrusive rays of the hot sun, could draw during the break.  
— Honestly, Sean, your biology work is terrible, — Peggy said, looking at the paper for the second time. — Did you even open your textbook?  
— I didn't have time, I went to training.  
— Do you think Leia is attracted to guys who are pumped up? — she chuckled.  
Lea herself has changed a lot since then: she cut her long, thick hair in a square and dyed it dark; she changed her usual smile and pure laughter to a completely indifferent expression. She used to go to Church on Sundays and bring cookies, and she was a good child. Now it's exactly the opposite. Maybe the kindness remained, but only in the depths of the soul, in the most secret corners of it, where no one will ever be able to get.  
— Why are you joking about Leia? What about Sarah? — Sean was easily irritated when the subject of his infatuation with Leia came up. Such jokes hurt him a lot, so he turned abruptly in Chris's direction, talking about Sarah. — You're still fucking drooling over her.  
— Didn't you have anything with Sarah — Peggy looked up from her biology textbook and, along with Sean, gave her friend a questioning look.  
—Been. A kiss in the 3rd grade, in the production of "Romeo and Juliet", — saying this, Sean laughed.  
— You know, even in the 3rd grade, but I managed to kiss her, which is not true about you and your attempts to interest Leia,sharply said Chis, pursing his lips.  
— Hey, am I interrupting you?  
Sarah came up to them unnoticed. Chris could recognize her without even looking at her, by the smell of perfume and the rustle of her voluminous cheerleader skirt. Pretty face, light hair, blue eyes-a typical ideal from the serial universes.  
— No, of course not, — Peggy said with a friendly smile.  
—Oprah is throwing a party this Friday, you can take your friends... Oh, Lea, are you coming to the party? — Lea came out of the Parking lot, giving Peggy a curt nod of greeting.  
— I will come  
She whipped out her invitation and headed for the school building. It was always a mystery to Chris how a girl of such short stature and seemingly ordinary appearance could cause such a flurry of discussion and emotion just by appearing at the school gates.  
— Yes, Sarah, we'll be there. Thanks.  
***  
Chris was a little unaccustomed to holding a camera after so many weeks of inactivity. It took me a while to remember how to focus the lens on something far away. Chris rarely picked up a camera, only when inspiration came, or when a slightly drunk Lea came to him in the evening, begging for a photo. Cheerleading performances were a decoration of the school — bright costumes, rhythmic music, beautiful girls.  
— Hey, you paparazzi, get out of my training! Oprah shouted, dropping her pom -poms to the ground and walking briskly toward the impromptu photographer.  
— You think I'm taking pictures of you and your cheerleaders? — Chris tried to say.  
— Oh, are those green bushes behind the fence? I repeat: finish this shit, or I won't even let you sit in the stands at all. — I wasn't in the mood to provoke a conflict.  
***  
— Heh-EE-EE, I got you a drink, — Sean, as usual tipsy — no one else at parties saw him, held a glass, and on his face shone a happy smile. Had Lea said anything to him, or even looked in his direction?  
— Thank you.  
— Chris, are you here? — She wrapped her arms around his back, smelling sweetly of perfume, and her soft hair brushed against his neck.  
— Well, I promised.  
There was a sparkle in her eyes, mingled with childish delight. The party was completely normal: crowds of teenagers, a lot of alcohol, and quite elite, because the party was organized by Oprah. Her house was large, but not comfortable. Like a Museum, it's beautiful, but you don't feel comfortable and you can hardly stay there overnight.  
— holy shit — Sean took a sip from his glass and grinned.  
Chris followed the direction of his gaze and noticed a girl who had just arrived at the party: dark jeans with a high rise and a belt that visually made the waist incredibly narrow, a transparent dark jacket that revealed a black bodice. It was Leia in her sexy, slightly cheeky way.  
— At least cover your mouth for the sake of decency,— Peggy grinned as she saw Sean's reaction and set the glass down on the counter.  
— By the way, Chris, can we play? Oprah had a bed blanket — Sarah gently touched the elbow of Chris.  
— What are we playing?  
— Action for a drink. Oprah, we have a new player! — Sarah shouted, and led her friends to the forming circle of slightly drunk young men sitting on a blanket spread on the floor.  
Sarah sat down next to Chris, adjusting her already short skirt, which seemed to expose her slender legs too much. Chris's gaze fell on them, and the memory of other legs that the boy had seen in his room, which were much more irregular, but at the same time so familiar, came back to him. The memory of legs in black fishnet tights that only whores wear, from another cheap store that smells of Marlboro.  
Their owner was sitting there, just to the right of Sean, and Chris could feel her gaze on him with its habitual indifference.  
— I hope I don't have to explain the rules? —Oprah asked.  
— We have newcomers in our circle. Should I explain?  
An expression of annoyance flickered across Oprah's face for just a hundredth of a second, then changed to her usual friendly expression, and she began to explain the point of the game.  
— One of us twirls the bottle, and the one it falls on is the one you kiss. So you go to that "kissing closet" for 5 minutes, and when you go out, you have a drink, all right? — The players nodded. — Who’s turn is first?  
— I want to, — Lea said.  
«Can't you wait for a drink?» — flashed in Chris’s head of a second. The girl with an indifferent expression spun an empty bottle of alcohol, and after a long spin, it settled on Chris. There was a silence in the room.  
— Do you want to refuse? — Sean looked hopefully at his friend, who was about to say Yes, but Lea beat him to it:  
— No, none of us refuses  
She stood up, adjusted the silver buckle of her belt, and headed toward the closet, followed by a dozen lustful looks from drunk guys who envied Chris in the back of their minds.  
The small room Chris and Lea entered was dark, and their faces were dimly lit by a small lamp in the corner. The guy was nervous-a kiss with a man he had known since childhood, seriously strained.  
— Relax, I'm not going to kiss you, — Lea said, sitting down on the nightstand with a bored look and exhaling. Her eyes were full of mascara, black arrows, and cherry lipstick, and she looked like a real hooker.  
— I'm not eager to kiss you — the girl languidly raised her gaze and began to study her neighbor. — You're tense as a string, —she chuckled, leaping off the nightstand and running a hand over her stomach muscles, smiling smugly.  
— Of course I don't like your touch, — Chris replied, grabbing her wrists and lifting them up, locking them directly over her head. In response to Leia's seemingly playful actions, he ran his hand over the exposed part of Her stomach and felt her shiver at the touch of his cold fingers.  
— You're not exactly relaxed, either, — he hissed, abruptly releasing her hands and walking out of the closet.  
The first person he looked at was Sean, whose face was all too clearly distressed. Her lips were pinched into a thin line, and her gaze darted nervously from side to side. Lea followed Chris out, closed the door, and sat down as if nothing had happened, her eyes narrowing slightly as she surveyed the people around her.  
It was obvious to Chris, who had known the girl since childhood, that this was just a mask. Leia's arrogant look is a sure sign of her inner agitation and anxiety.


	2. Righteous Christian

It was after ten when Chris returned from Oprah's party. This time was especially pleasant to the young man: the foggy empty streets, filled with the echoing silence of the night, opened up space for thoughts and feelings. He couldn't get the image of the girl sitting on that small wooden nightstand out of the mind, how she's looking at Chris's face, scared from sudden and completely incomprehensible feelings, with a fervor in her eyes. The young man right now wanted to turn around, go into that house and press Leia to that hated for a few seconds nightstand, kiss so that the lipstick smeared the face, smears lay on the neck area. It was like she was a canvas and Chris was an artist, but it was just the opposite. This Frenchwoman made him change his emotions like the colors of a palette, mixing shades that had never been seen before. Sarah quickly faded into the background, the captivating scent of her perfume Chris no longer felt near, rather, did not want to feel near. In his mind's eye, he could smell the familiar scent of French lavender shampoo.

The Windows of his house were always warm with chandeliers with beautiful antique shades - mother loved things from flea markets and antique stores, so all the rooms were filled with old decor items bought for a few dollars. The front door was slightly ajar. Quite unusual at this hour of the night. He entered the house and smelled the sharp smell of alcohol.  
-Mom, dad, I'm home!"  
Chris walked down the hall. His father, Mr. Morris, was sitting in the living room watching TV, paying no attention to the images that flickered on the screen. His eyes were fixed blankly in front of him, his lips were muttering involuntarily, and with an exhausted hand he was furiously pulling back his hair.  
-What's wrong, dad?-Chris asked carefully. At the sight of his father, something inside him shrank and sank-obviously nothing good was to be expected.  
-Your mother... She... She's - " Mr. Morris gasped, his throat constricting. His speech was incoherent, his eyes wild, and his hands were shaking. - She got sick... Badly... With heart..."  
-Where is she?-Chris could hardly believe his ears.  
-In the hospital-having drained already not the first in a row a glass with alcohol, the father began to sob hysterically.  
There was no point in asking him what hospital his mother was in, just as there was no point in running to it. The only facility that Mrs. Morris could have been in was Blackpaines, a hospital on the outskirts of Blackpain, a suburb of Seattle. The hour was late, and of course no one would let Chris into the room, and the attending doctor would not come until the morning.  
After such news, the native bed seemed like a lot of small needles, digging into the body with every movement and thought. Chris didn't sleep a wink, trying all night to figure out if what he'd heard in the living room was a figment of his imagination after a cocktail, or a new problem in the Morris family's life. He stared ahead with slow, suffering eyes, letting his thoughts and images take him deep into his subconscious.  
The boy remembered the taste of lipstick on his lips, hot breath in the area of the chin. A white cloud of smoke that had something in common between them faded into the darkness of his hair and fell over his lush lashes that covered his emerald eyes. After a little digging in the back of his mind, he remembered where the insolent neighbor had left a pack of thin cigarettes. His hand found a thin dark box with nicotine bundles inside. She didn't smoke American cigarettes; her brother sent her several blocks of French Marlboros. His gaze skimmed over the inscription; Chris had not studied French, and the young man simply could not hear this speech from someone other than a girl. The lighter was carefully placed in the same pack, so it was not difficult to smoke.Opening the window wide, Chris exhaled clouds of white smoke that disappeared into the night. The sky was surprisingly starry - the next day promised to be warm. His father was probably still sitting in the living room; there was no slamming of the door, no heavy footsteps. It's amazing how the absence of one person can turn a house into such an apathetic and dreary place.  
Night gradually gave way to morning. The sky was lit up with timid sunlight, the ground was covered with a semi-transparent fog, and the air smelled fresh. The neighbor has already gone for a walk with the dogs, and the rest of the residents have started to get ready for work. It wasn't a very long walk to the hospital: ten minutes and you were there. Chris couldn't wait any longer and went to his mother.He saw streets that smelled of autumn rain, a few sluggish stray dogs, and houses where people were gradually leaving. Does this city wake up so early? The lights were on in the hospital, and a pleasant woman in the waiting room quickly ushered the young man into the cardiovascular surgery Department.

The room smelled of medicine and hope for the recovery of a loved one. His mother was sleeping, breathing steadily. Chris stared at his own face, and fragments of memories flashed through his mind: how she had taught him to ride a bike, carefully treating endless abrasions; how she had read him bedtime stories as a child - he loved the mysterious, fairy-tale, fascinating sound of her voice; tender warm hands stroking his head during a difficult school period; the way she gathered the whole family to spend an evening playing board games, invited neighbors to her birthday, which coincided with Independence day in a pleasant way. Chris found it hard to believe that this could be happening to her. Even more difficult was the thought that he was in danger of losing her. Forever.  
The idyll of mother and son was disturbed by the creaking of the door, and a heavy man in a white coat entered the room.  
-Good morning,-he greeted Chris and hurried to introduce himself.- I'm Dr. green, the attending physician, Mrs. Morrison. Who am I dealing with?  
-Kristoffer Morrison, her son,-the young man said shortly. After a sleepless night, there was no strength to go into lengthy explanations.  
-Nice to meet you,-Mr. green said, giving Chris a quick handshake while commenting on what had happened. "This is her second heart attack - not as severe or devastating, but you know, her body is already weakened.  
Chris frowned.  
-What are you implying?  
-I mean, everything is stable now, but the medications that keep her stable need to be bought, and they are expensive. There may not be a strong need for them, but this is not guaranteed. Who knows what will happen next month, right?- Mr. green patted Chris gently on the shoulder and, after checking the readings on the device monitors, left for his morning rounds with his patients.  
***  
"Lord Jesus Christ, our God, bless us with food and drink through the prayers of Your most pure Mother and all your saints, for you are blessed forever and ever. Amen" the father's lips quickly whispered the usual prayer, after which the Brossard family members let go of each other's hands and began to eat. The dining room was filled with the head-spinning aroma of French cuisine, which Leia's mother adhered to, despite the fact that they had long left their native country. Mrs. Brossard sliced the chicken in a smooth motion and spread it out on the plates to match the clock on the wall.  
-Lea, my mother and I have a favor to ask of you,-Mr. Brossard said, slowly turning his mirrored gaze on his daughter. It was probably only because Leia's father was a clergyman that she was tolerated by the school administration, because no one wanted to quarrel with the Confessor - especially the religious people, who were most of the older population of Seattle.  
-I listening to you- Leah looked questioningly at his father.  
-Our neighbors, the Morrisons, have family problems. Emily is in the hospital, and we have to help Chris while his father is away. Therefore, if he needs help, never refuse, you are a good girl, a good Christian-the father smiled gently from the corner of his lips.  
***  
The need for money for his mother's recovery made Chris think about work. The only thing he was good at was photography, so he decided to try to get a job at a local newspaper and went to the office the next day. Outside, the rain continued to fall, as if responding to the anguish that was tearing at Chris's soul.  
The young man fidgeted with a battered portfolio - an old folder of his father, in which he had pasted several printed photos.  
-May I come in?-he tapped steadily on the office door and went in after a soft "come in".The young editor-in-chief stood at his Desk, his black tie stretched at the neck, the collar of his ironed shirt unbuttoned, and a loose jacket over his broad shoulders. He was Smoking a cigarette, studying the latest issue of the newspaper. -Hello, Mr. Blythe.  
-I'm listening- he said, looking Chris up and down, then stubbed out his cigarette and abruptly folded the newspaper.  
\- My name is Christopher Morris,-the young man began.-I'm a photographer, I'm looking for a job and I would like to get a job at your newspaper.-He handed the folder to the editor, but the editor did not move to take it, and only sneered.  
-I'm sorry, friend, but we don't have a Union or a job center, and we don't need workers,- Mr. Blythe said, squinting and pulling a smug smile.  
-At least, take a look at my work poi o-Losing his composure and completely forgetting about the need to make a good impression on the employer, Chris shoved the portfolio directly into the hands of the editor. He looked at Chris's work arrogantly for a while, turning the pages quickly and clearly trying to get rid of the annoying young man as soon as possible.  
-The work is completely mediocre,-Mr. Blythe said at last.-I don't have instagram with a selection of aesthetic images for teenage girls. But as compensation for the time spent, I will take one photo from you.- he put one photo back in the Desk and handed the folder back.  
Chris was filled with anger and resentment, but at himself, only at himself for the fact that the person closest to him needed help more than ever, and he could only imagine the rustle of bills in his hands, no more. Flipping through the portfolio, which now seemed like a useless collection of pictures, Chris discovered that Mr. Blythe had taken one of his favorite photos. A typical image of Leia from behind - it was one of the usual evenings when She came to smoke with him. Her hair was a little longer then, and she was facing the window, and the full moon shone on the curve of her back, the thinness of her shoulders, and the sheen of her hair.


	3. Who are you gonna run to now?

Lea was carrying a container with warm food in it that her father had asked her to take to a neighbor. The delicious smell of lasagna made her dizzy, but the unpleasant feeling that was tormenting her from the inside did not allow her to concentrate on this pleasant smell at all.  
The incident at the party had thrown Leia out of her comfort zone. She was bitterly aware that it would be awkward for her to look at her friend's eyes now, since they had almost kissed twice in the past week, and the thought of it made her cheeks flush with shame. Lea and Chris never allowed themselves to do this, valued their friendship and stayed at a distance. Currently, both have taken a step, not fully realizing in what kind of way.  
With a heavy sigh, Brossard walked to the Morrises 'front porch and pulled the handle of the neighbors' front door as if it were the entrance to her own home. The door wasn't locked, so Lea went inside. Chris, in a rumpled t-shirt and disheveled hair, was sitting at the table in the living room, his dark green eyes fixed on a shelf, but it was clear that his thoughts were far beyond this room.  
Without bothering to say Hello, Lea set the container right in the middle of the table, pushing the dirty glasses and several packets of candy bars to one side. — From my parents. This is lasagna, be careful, don't choke on it.  
Chris shifted his heavy gaze to the woman next to him, mumbled something under his breath, and returned his gaze to the bookcase.  
— Where's the thank you? I was actually wasting my time bringing you this masterpiece of cooking — Lea began, ignoring her friend's untidy, tired appearance, the dark circles and bags under his eyes clearly indicating that the young man had not slept for several nights in a row.  
— Thank you, — Chris said. —Finished? Get out of here.  
— I'm actually trying to help you, and you're acting like a complete asshole,— Lea said. A few days of continuous lectures from her parents and an early Sunday service left their mark on her emotional state.  
— I don't need your help, okay?! — Chris exploded, clearly on edge. He stood up abruptly, knocking over his chair, his eyes blazing with rage, and his voice breaking into a scream. — I can't help myself, and how can you help me? Who are you, anyway? A strong and independent hooker. No one sees you more than as a sexual object!  
Lea recoiled as if she had been whipped. Morris's words were just as stinging, and the girl's lips were frozen with hysteria.  
— And you're a damned weakling who does nothing but whine and feel sorry for yourself. Mama's boy! Where is your mother? Who are you going to run to now?! — these words came out of her mouth. Lea did not even have time to realize how much she had hurt him now. Chris felt like a slap in the face, and his eyes — those mirrors of his soul — were now filled with pain and despair.  
— Go to the office and get a job there, — Lea suggested after a moment's silence, trying to hide the excitement and remorse in her voice.  
— I already went, and the only thing I was told was that it was fucking mediocre,— Chris said, recovering from a moment of rage, and picking up the container that his friend had brought from the table and removing the foil in which the still — warm lasagna was wrapped, he began to eat it. Lasagna was Mrs. Brossard's signature dish, and she made it for holidays, neighborhood gatherings, and school fairs. Many who tried the dish for the first time so flatteringly praised this painfully simple recipe. And the family only painfully realized that this is the only thing that she knew how to cook. Other French dishes that often appeared on the family table, she ordered at her favorite restaurant.

***  
No matter how cold-blooded a bitch Lea was trying to be, she felt that now she simply had to help a friend who seemed to be always there. In addition to the feeling of guilt for the words expressed in the heat of the quarrel, the girl decided to talk to the editor of the magazine.  
— Is John in there? — Lea came to work off-shift and glanced at the big blue eyes of the pretty Secretary. Did he offer her sex too?  
—Yes, what are you concerned about? — Brossard didn't even hear the rest of the question and stormed into the editor-in-chief's cold office. Only idiots could open a window in the fall, and one of them was sitting in front of her.  
When Mr. Blythe saw Leia in the doorway, he gave Her a dirty grin and looked her up and down, licking his lips like a predator.  
— I've already missed you.  
— Hire Chris — Leia demanded in a harsh, cold tone that brooked no argument, but John's expression didn't change at all. He unbuttoned the top buttons of his sky-blue shirt, revealing pale, protruding collarbones, as if he were hot in this icy office.  
— So, I didn't make a mistake, you were in the photo, - John closed his eyes and stretched his lips in a smile. — And Chris is your boyfriend, isn't he? Lea frowned.  
— He's my neighbor, and it doesn't matter.  
— Oh, trust me, this is a big deal in our little deal, — John said, raising his eyebrows as he beat a strange rhythm on his knee. The belt badge glittered in the sunlight that slid across his body.  
— Tell me about it — Lea took a step forward, and he abruptly grabbed her by the arm. All attempts to keep her balance were futile, and reluctantly the girl sat on his knee.  
The smell of expensive perfume and cigarettes hit her nose — not the cheap ones she bought at the local corner store-but good, expensive cigarettes with a thick white filter and a pleasant aftertaste. After a moment, the guy put his hand on her back, running his hand along her spine and stopping at the edge of her t-shirt.  
— If you want your neighbor Chris to work in my office, you know what you have to do, — John hissed into the back of his neck, his nose stroking the thin skin and his lips exploring each wreath.  
— You have a mountain of silicone at the front Desk, cover girl, why do you need me? — Leia's voice trailed off. Close contact and a few confident and, unfortunately, pleasant touches took away all the ability to think clearly.  
— Do you agree to my offer or not? — Brossard exhaled noisily. Having sex with an unpleasant guy for the sake of an ungrateful neighbor is a bad idea. But she wasn't doing it because of Chris. An image of Mrs. Morris, a beautiful woman and neighbor, came to mind, giving Leia advice and feeding her whenever She ran away from home. She loved her son very much, and the girl knew what a strong bond they had, so the answer to his question was obvious.  
— Yes, — she said underneath her breath.   
— What did you just say? — his breath tickled her ear. He could hear her answer perfectly, and she could feel the smile in his voice.  
— I agree.  
John began to trace a path of kisses from the neck to the shoulder of the girl, biting the skin somewhere in the area of the collarbone. Lea pursed her lips, trying to catch her breath.  
— Close the door, — she said.  
— Such a brave girl is afraid of being seen?"  
John closed the door roughly. His brown eyes burned with desire. He walked over to Leia, who was sitting in his expensive leather chair. With deft fingers, he unbuttoned his shirt, pushed it aside, and, taking the girl by the hips, sat her down on the table.  
«A strong and independent hooker.»

Blythe bit into the full lips of Lea, who reluctantly returned his quick kiss, bit her lip, and pushed his tongue into the girl's mouth. Lea frowned in disgust at herself and this guy, but she knew that she could not escape her chosen fate, and she ran her fingers through the thick curly hair of the young man, pulling it back and forcing the guy to recoil.  
«No one sees you more than as a sexual object!»  
John took off the girl's black t-shirt and, covering her body with kisses, exploring it with his hands, pulled off her skirt and threw it somewhere to the side. Lea felt the appraising gaze of a predator that had found its new victim.  
— God, you're gorgeous,— he breathes, and then he grabs her by the hips and heads toward the black leather sofa.  
The young man loomed over Brossard, and her gaze fell on Blythe's freckled face, which was strewn across his sharp cheekbones in constellations. Leia's hands slid over John's taut abs as the thick leather belt clattered to the floor. Freeing both himself and Leia from unnecessary items of clothing, the guy abruptly entered the girl, spreading her pliable thighs.  
«...hooker!»  
John moved in a way that made Leia's vision darken and her head spin. She took deep breaths, but could not get enough oxygen to cope with the lack of breathing.  
"...no one sees you more..."  
Blythe didn't want to hurt her, but it was getting harder to control himself with each thrust. Moans came from lips that gasped for air. John abruptly changed the angle of the entrance, pinning the girl to the sofa. His hands were everywhere: at the bottom of her stomach, on her chest...  
«hooker! ...a sex object!»  
Heavy breathing, hoarse moans-all the sounds in the office merged in unison. Blythe bites into the girl's thin neck with a kiss, grabs her stomach, and with one deep penetration they both achieve release. Both breathing so heavy, like they ran ten miles on Blakan.  
— Don't tell Chris that I asked him to take it. Just tell me you changed your mind, okay? — Lea asked, avoiding the gaze of the one she'd just given herself to, as she gathered her clothes from the floor.  
— All right,— Blythe said, and fastened his seat belt with a slight movement.


	4. My patience will burst

The crowded schoolyard never annoyed Chris — on the contrary, there were his friends, his favorite football team, and, in general, there were a lot of pleasant memories associated with this place. Only now the familiar place no longer seemed so cool. Everyone he met looked at him with concerned eyes, full of sympathy and readiness to support Chris during a difficult period of his life. It was these glances that irritated the morally exhausted young man, who directed all his remaining strength not to explode, and looked exclusively at the ground, which made it seem to those around him that the young Morris was heartbroken.

Peggy met him by the school, with a sympathetic look that made Chris feel sick, holding a couple of textbooks and a binder plastered with the symbols of various TV shows and music groups.

— How are you? what is it? " she asked anxiously, nervously adjusting the strap of her favorite bright-colored briefcase.

— Have I become a victim? Why are you all running around me like someone died?! — Chris gritted his teeth and walked reluctantly into the school. The girl looked around in confusion and ran after him.

— Chris, I'm just worried, you know, — she said.

—Thank you for your support, Peggy, but I'm fine. Let's go to class, and don't ask me questions like that until everyone's alive, okay?

***

The water in the tub had long since cooled, and there was a faint smell of shower gel and cigarette smoke in the air. Lea sat motionless in the warm water, taking only an occasional puff, burning her lungs with cigarette smoke. Her body ached, and her mind raced with the thought that she had sold herself — not for money, but for a job for Chris. She let the Let a damn curly-haired manipulator fuck her on that damn leather sofa. 

Her dark hair was dripping, and her eyes were red, either from crying or from two days of insomnia. She felt broken, and all she wanted to do was take a bath and drown herself in the cool water. School was boring, and there were only half a pack of cigarettes left.

A knock on the door interrupted the privacy of the bathroom on the second floor of the Brossard house. Her mother's voice was imperious.

— Lea, how long can you sit there? — We need to talk.

— I'm coming out now, — the girl answered, her voice hoarse and a little choked with tears, and she breathed a sigh of relief as she heard footsteps receding.

Lea climbed out of the water, wrapped a soft white towel around her, covering a few bruises on her thighs, and quickly hid the ashtray under the tub. In the girl's cold room, her mother was already waiting for her.

— What is this? —she asked, holding a pack of cigarettes. The same empty pack of cigarettes that Lea had recently thrown in the trash.

— It's a pack of cigarettes, — said the young Brossard indifferently, and closed the window, from which an icy autumn wind was blowing.

— I see, thanks for the clarification. Do you want to explain yourself?

Leia was always annoyed by her mother's teacher's tone, because She was not one of the students who didn't complete their homework, but one of Mrs. Brossard's children, who had tried hard to get genuine attention from her parents, but had finally given up hope of it.

— I smoke, is that enough explanation? — the girl snapped, snatching the wretched bundle from her mother's hands and throwing it into the trash.

— If you think I'm going to hide it from my father the way I hid the weed I found on you, you're wrong — I can tell him about the cigarettes at any time, and believe me, the punishment will be severe. A monastery, an Orthodox camp, and any other activities will be provided for you. So one more outburst like this and I'm going to lose my patience, — Mrs. Brossard said hotly, pretending to be the mother of the year, and slammed the door.

***

Chris was called back to the editorial office the day after Leia's visit. In the editor-in-chief's office, in addition to John, there was another neat-looking man

— How did you change your mind so quickly?what is it? — the young man asked sarcastically, sitting down in the chair opposite Blythe.

— You're young and inexperienced, but I thought I'd give you a chance, — John said casually, feeling like a benefactor, folding his hands over his perfectly pressed shirt.

— What will my job be?

— I won't coordinate your actions. The young man pointed to a man Chris didn't recognize sitting on a black leather sofa. — He's the chief professional here, and I'm just... a pawn in his hands.

— Let's go to my office, Chris. I'll tell you what's what. John, can we go?

He nodded curtly and turned his attention to the glowing screen of his laptop, which displayed a sketch of the design of the new cover. Morris followed the new chief.

Carl's office was larger. There were several magazines on the stand, sketches and photographs pinned up with safety pins, and white coffee cups on a small dark nightstand in the corner.

— So I'm giving you a column — or rather, a column in a magazine-about people's fears. You are a photographer, your task is just to collect a few photos. How you do it is up to you, but I need five girls with five different phobias. Can you handle it?

— I think so, — Chris said, and his heart lightened instantly. At last, he was not sitting still, but doing something — a pleasant thing, which, moreover, brought money and helped the difficult situation in his family.

Karl spent some time sorting through the papers arranged in neat piles on the table and handed the subordinate a sheet of paper with the names of phobias, some of which were circled, some underlined, some framed.

\- So, I've jotted down a little... read This list of fears that will look most effective in the photo.

Karl expertly explained how he saw the upcoming column, what he wanted from Chris, and what the pictures should look like in terms of composition, color, and so on.

— But you take the reins in your own hands, do not be afraid to experiment and bring your vision. I'll be glad to, — he concluded.

Outside, Chris breathed in the cool autumn air. The knowledge that it was now necessary to look for models was burdensome. Lea, of course, would fit well into this project: interesting facial features, an aesthetic body and clearly readable emotions on the face. But asking her to do so and not hearing a hundred taunts in return would be incredibly difficult, if not impossible. Chris was morally not ready to tolerate the antics of a recalcitrant girlfriend — the world did not agree with her.

The memory of those unobtrusive touches in the closet, her short skirt, came back to her more and more desperately… Always too short for size-she emphasized her sexuality and was not afraid to overdo it. Even compared to Sarah. She's just a sweet girl that you want to love, protect, kiss in the rain and spend paths of kisses. She was beautiful, really beautiful, so breath-taking in spite of her lusciously girlish style, but no touch of hers had elicited the reaction that Leia's had.

Brossard is not a beauty; rather, she is pleasant, aesthetic, but not beautiful. Nevertheless, you want to look at it, studying all the imperfect features of the face and body. Her temper is explosive, and her fishnet tights are probably stuck to her legs, because she didn't appear in any other clothes.


	5. Do you still want to escape?

Magazine “Duende” had its own small photo Studio, located in a spacious room on the ground floor with textured painted walls, a small cyclorama and a meager selection of necessary auxiliary equipment. In the far corner was a gleaming leather sofa and a glass coffee table with several bottles of high-end alcohol, where photographers often had nightly meetings with their models and muses.

On the other side, right next to the dark curtain that led to the development room, was a computer Desk and a rack with a lot of folders and the names of models who had once been photographed for this magazine.

— Stand a little to the left. You should have fear on your face — Chris commanded, trying to get some emotion out of the model who had come to the ad, but in vain. No matter how hard she tried, there was no horror in her expression, only pity and confusion.

— I got it, didn't I?

She twisted her face, and the unnatural expression, to put it bluntly, disfigured the soft features of a large-eyed blonde who had ruined her big modeling future and came to the photo shoot in order to add to her still thin portfolio.

— Quite, — Chris replied, not wanting to offend the girl and hoping to catch a couple of good shots during the planned hour of photography.

Fortunately, his hope was not fruitless, and looking through the resulting images late in the evening, he was happy to find several successful photos. A professional would hardly call them "successful" if they were seen separately, but against the background of other images of a tense face with ugly bulging eyes, these shots seemed quite nothing.

Chris sighed wearily — it was the second hour since he'd been hunched over his laptop, peering at the photos he'd taken-and glanced out the window. Lea didn't come for her cigarettes, and she hadn't come for three weeks. Admittedly, he missed the sharpness of her jokes, the short skirt, and the damnably tempting fishnet tights.

***

There was an unspoken rule at Seattle high school: you had to be part of one of those stupid companies that were all over the schoolyard. But many teenagers (including Lea) could not relate to any of them, so they often ate at some distant table.

Once, the young Brossard thought of signing up as a cheerleader, but just looking at their leader Oprah, I wanted to run to the toilet, empty my stomach and no longer look in her direction. Lea had never seen so much plaster, arrogance, and self-pity. Guys were drooling over her, so Oprah felt beautiful and desirable. Maybe that's what Leia needed in her life.

Let’s talk about Shawn: he looks at her every step so intently, he would give her flowers, invite her to the movies, and simply cherish the ungrateful object of his love. The young man liked to appear out of nowhere, tried to talk to her at dinner, borrow a pencil when she needed it badly. Shawn was everywhere, literally everywhere, and he was also too accessible and simple, which did not please the predatory nature of the Frenchwoman. If the girl was asked what animal she associates herself with, most likely, she would call a black cat with ochre eyes independent and graceful, needing human warmth, but not in complete control and incessant spending time together.

The Bigfoot field was empty. Chris was gone. At all nowhere not was: nor for favorite table, nor on lessons, nor on electives, — even in school yard girl not stumbled on studying glance cold-green eyes. And, in truth, she was glad of it, for the very sight of him reminded her that she was a corrupt whore. To say that this realization tormented her was an understatement, and it was now the second week since her last visit to the newsroom. She skipped work days on the pretext of being ill, begging another Secretary to take over until she "recovered."

— Leah, — Shawn's arm stopped the girl near the school, and she was ready to literally rip his hand for such a cavalier touch.

Brossard reluctantly turned to face the softly smiling young man, giving him a bored look. Admittedly, Sean didn't look as bad as she'd thought. Today, his jet-black hair was styled differently, and it added a certain charm to his appearance.

— Your work for history class. — the young man croaked, handing her a white sheet of paper with a large"C-" in the lower corner of the paper. Yes, studying had never been Leia's strong point, and to be honest, She didn't care. — You left it on the table, and I heard you need to redo it.

— I left it on purpose, and do you know why? Because I don't give a fuck.

Lea slowly descended from the porch, leaving the guy confused. He was very responsible about his studies. Peggy said his parents were strict about his grades, but that wasn't even the point. Moving from Iran to America was not easy, and Shawn appreciated the opportunity.

An unfamiliar car was parked outside the school. Everyone knew the cars of cool high school students — They were a nuisance to blackpane high school students every day-but Lea had never seen this car. As she looked, she met John's gaze, and something inside her sank. My palms were sweating, and my blood was pounding in my ears.

Expensive black car glistened under the rays of the autumn sun. The Frenchwoman knew that he was waiting for her, so she sat in the white leather car. But, surprisingly, the owner of such a fancy car was not dressed in a perfectly ironed shirt and trousers, as usual in the office, but in a normal white t-shirt and jeans.

— How long are you going to keep quiet? — Blythe hissed, pursing his lips. — No, of course, I'm very turned on by games, but not like this.

— Can we get away from the school?

— Jealous? — John raised an eyebrow. — Are you afraid that your classmates will ask for my number?

After driving a few meters along the main road, the guy turned in the direction of the fork to the forest path. No one really went there, because the area was adjacent to the mayor's mansion and was very carefully guarded.

— I ask you again, what kind of games are you playing? — John asked, turning off the engine.

The sky was overcast and dark gray, and the leaves that were drying and slowly losing their brightness, which the wind was driving along the ground, looked dim and gray in the absence of light.

— Games? What are you talking about? — Lea tried to talk herself out of it, although she knew she was no actress, and John's ability to blink innocently was no longer convincing.

— From tomorrow you go to work and work all the two weeks that you were "sick", — said John grabbing the girl's hand. — You think I'm blind? Or stupid? Or who do you think I am? A moral freak? A rapist? But you agreed to it, let's not forget that, — he said, lifting her chin with his fingers. — Come on, tell me, do you want to say no? — with his other hand, he stroked his knee, keeping his distance.

Brossard immediately thinks of the scene with Chris's disheveled hair, rude tone, and dirty glasses scattered around. She clearly didn't want to put Morris back in such a desperately helpless state, so giving up quickly was a bad option.

— No.

— Well, that's right, — John smiled and moved in closer for a kiss, but Leah instinctively shrank back into the seat, facing to the side.

— I don't want to, — she said, looking down at the man's hand that held her knee.

The girl did not feel any obvious dislike for her pervert boss. He was attractive in appearance, gave quite a pleasant feeling, but the way he behaved towards her was absolutely nasty. The predominance was repulsive, and the knowledge that you are someone's whore, no one has ever brought positive emotions.

— I didn't ask your permission. And let me remind you of one more rule: no one should touch you the way I touch you, — his hand rose treacherously, and his cheeks burned so that Leah wanted to open all the windows for him. — If you go missing again, your Chris will go out like a cork and you will go with him.

— Can I go?

— No,— said John 

The guy blocked the door, but it wasn't that that scared Leia, it was the fact that she didn't want to leave. John bit into her roughly, holding her by the neck so that she couldn't pull away. With all the weight of his body, he pressed the girl into the white leather seat, deepening the kiss, squeezing her thighs until they bruised, and the girl's hand involuntarily found itself in his hair. Her short skirt was already pulled up even higher.

This internal struggle between clear desire and common sense. And, as usual, it wasn't common sense that won.

— Do you still want to go somewhere? — John whispered into her mouth, but Lea was silent, because she just couldn't say a damn "no", and the dark — haired man raised his voice: — come on, tell me, do you want to leave or not?

Suddenly Blythe's phone rang, cutting the tense silence in half. John pulled back and answered the saving, but somehow so hateful call.


	6. Totally vulnerable

Several photos are laying on the white wooden table in Chris's curator's office. Carl ran his eyes over the images without a shadow of emotion on his face and was silent. His expression was always a little wistful, and it was even somewhat repulsive-it gave the impression that he was in his own universe, and it was not possible to get him out of it.

— What is it? — a hoarse voice said Mr. Wilbur.

— These are the photos for that column in the magazine. About fears, — Morris stammered, shrinking back in his chair, and was horrified to see Carl's gray eyes flash with annoyance and his fingers tighten on the photograph.

— those face expressions… You are telling me it's fear?

Mr. Wilber spread the photos out in front of the Intern and stared at Chris's pale, confused face.

— This girl's face shows only fatigue, high self-esteem, and the same unattainable high ambitions-no more. There is no real, savage horror in her eyes. All I can see are bulging eyes and twisted lips, — as if making a fatal diagnosis of a patient who still had hope of life, Mr. Wilbur flicked the photos into a trash can under the table.

— Do you suggest hiring Actresses? — Chris said.

In truth, he wasn't prepared for the curator's words. It had always seemed to him that a magazine photo was like an ad on TV: a pleasant but rarely memorable image that took the minimum amount of time. But, to Chris's surprise, it was different, and the column about people's fear was very important to the magazine.

— Why? — Carl grimaced, surprised at the primitive thinking of his subordinate. — Kristoffer, if you want to connect your life with photography, learn to be smart. There are a lot of ways to take the right picture with natural emotions, and the next one will suit you: just find out the phobia of a person, stay alone with them, thereby making them completely vulnerable, and adjust the situation to their fear. Voila! The perfect picture is ready.

Carl got up from his Desk and walked around the office, his patent leather boots clicking on the light parquet floor.

— Where will I find such girls? — the young man asked, rising from his chair in the same exasperated manner.

It was much easier to sit and give orders than to make someone feel real fear, terror. Chris had his own fears — even of the dark. It would seem that a grown man, a football team player, and the inability to see objects clearly at a certain time of day was as frightening as the closing of the Elevator doors, which terrified every claustrophobe. Lea even joked that she would come to him at night to read a story and put him to bed. They were thirteen then, and if she had said it now, it would have had a more obscene connotation. Although, in principle, everything she did and said had a somewhat obscene subtext.

— Listen, Chris, do you need money? — Wilbur took a few steps toward the young man, his hands in the pockets of his dark cropped trousers.

— Yes. 

— So move your brain a little. Maybe you can think of something.

Morris was certainly trying to think of something, but each idea seemed more and more absurd. Starting with calling prostitutes and talking to them about life and ending with placing ads on Craiglist. But money is needed — there's nothing you can do about it, and so any idea, no matter how crazy it may seem, was like a lifeline for a drowning person.

***

A measuring Cup of black hair dye stood next to the mirror. The dim light of the lamp did not help much in parting the strands evenly. Picking up a brush, Lea drew a smooth line along the roots, painting over the natural chestnut color and a glimpse of her past life.

It was a very spontaneous decision to paint myself black, as well as to have my ears pierced in four places. She just looked at the posters of Merlin Manson and Amy Winehouse one night, at their dark hair, the same as their lives, and thought ," what's worse about me?" The next morning, she cut her hair in a square and bought cheap hair dye from the supermarket, then turned herself into a brunette in the bathroom. Black hair was a reflection of a girl's state of mind.

The door opened abruptly, and my mother came in with an unpleasant creak.

— What are you doing? — she asked, frowning.

— Nothing you could send me to an Orthodox camp for, — the girl snapped, running her brush along the back of her head.

— our father and I warned you about hair coloring — Mrs. Brossard was about to lecture when she stopped. — That's not what I came to say, though.

Lea shifted her gaze to her mother, holding the black brush in her hands.

— Mr. Morris is away working, and his wife is in the hospital, you know… Chris is going through a very difficult time in his life and Mr and Mrs Morris have asked us to look after him. So my father and I had a little talk and decided to put Chris up with us for a while.

The brush fell from Leia's hands, leaving ugly blotches on the white tulle. The idea of living in the same house with Chris was very disturbing. Once, when she was a child, she had a slight liking for a neighbor of her own age, with whom she spent her days playing incessant games, and this was logical enough. Kind and cute, Chris was different from the other boys in the neighborhood who threw rocks at girls and trampled on their snowmen, and in her heart of hearts, she believed that he kept his differences from the superficial and sex-crazed peers.

— And he'll sleep between you and dad, won't he?— Lea asked sarcastically, picking up her brush from the floor and examining several spots.

— Your brother's room is empty, it's time to find a use for it, — her mother continued, ignoring Leia's question.

— And if Aaron returns from England?

— We'll solve the problems as they come, — Mrs. Brossard said in a sweet voice, and broke into a forced smile that was as false as her owner's.

To Chris and many other residents of Blackpane, Lea seemed like a kind and caring mother, but it was the dust she threw in the public eye. When she got home, she began to take out the anger she had accumulated during her day at school. Mr. Brossard had a lot to do, because he was the only one Confessor for the whole of Brakpan, and so he rarely appeared at home. The girl had to take the brunt of it. Rudeness with her daughter began with the usual questioning about where Lea had been and ended with determining the number of sexual partners by the length of her skirt, and it seemed to Mrs. Brossard that this method of determining was very effective.


	7. Animal protector

Despite the fact that Blackpane was a small town, there were more than enough catering establishments for every taste and budget: from a nineties-style diner with a musical instrument, delicious French fries and affordable prices for schoolchildren to an expensive restaurant with the concise name "Ann" at a posh hotel in the center of the city.

The first one was located not far from the high school, so it's not surprising that most of Chris's classmates gathered there, but if you are a coffee foodie and introvert, then there is a cozy cafe on the outskirts of the city with tables located at a distance of five meters from each other, and a beautiful interior. Chris liked to come here. There was no music playing, and there was minimal noise coming from the small kitchen. The silence, smoothed out by the occasional clatter of dishes, helped to concentrate on thoughts and, hiding from the world, solve questions that have long plagued the mind. There were only desserts and a few coffees on the menu.

Chris was sitting at a round table in the corner of the cafe, waiting for Shawn, who was due to arrive any minute and tell his friend some news.

— What will you order? — the waitress asked, her voice sounding exaggeratedly loud in the echoing silence of the restaurant.

Her blond hair, curled at the ends, fell to her shoulders in a loose mass, and her pale blue eyes, tinged with green, reflected the cozy light of the shaded lamp. Her pale, unpolished eyebrows made her look like a living doll with a slightly childish, but at the same time refined expression. By Chris's definition, her beauty lay in sheer simplicity, the softness of her lines — no sharp cheekbones or dark, thick lashes, all virginal light and natural. She didn't have much makeup on her face, unlike Leia. Although it is worth admitting that Leia was very suited to her extravagant makeup. Dark hands, wine-colored lipstick, deep brown eyes, and dark clothing contrasted with her pale skin.

— Can you give me any suggestions? — Chris asked.

— I don't think I can give you any — the waitress said with a smile. — I've been a vegan for several years, so all the food in this cafe is not part of my diet.

Chris smiled, running a hand through his hair.  
— so you’re an animal protector?

— Depends on what you mean by "animal protection".

The girl shifted the menu from one hand to the other, and Chris's gaze fell on beautiful hands with thin, long fingers and manicured short nails.

— Those who feed stray animals dive into the ocean to collect garbage, — the young man began to list. — People who do not buy cosmetics that are tested on animals and further down the list.

— I actually do almost everything you say, except dive into the water. Everything that concerns the water does not concern me — the girl smiled shyly, looking away and biting her lower lip.

It's probably a sore subject for her. Maybe it's the memory that comes back to my head and makes my wounds ache again, or maybe it's ... fear. Precisely! Phobia. What Morris is looking for for the project, and what Carl wants to see in the magazine column.

— Are you afraid of water? I'm sorry, I never introduced myself. Chris Morris, — the guy kindly held out his hand to her 

— Zoe,— the waitress said shortly, accepting a light handshake. — Yes, I have aquaphobia. The stereotype that if a child is thrown into the water, it will float, sometimes and even in most cases works exactly the opposite.

— I partly understand you, though I've never been afraid of water…

Shawn came into the cafe, looked around, straightened his rain-soaked hair, and sat down next to Chris. In Blackpane, it often rained and the streets were foggy. It was a little like London, where Leia's brother, Aaron, had gone to school.

— Okay, I'll leave the menu. When you decide, call me, — Zoe said with a last smile and walked away.

— Flirting with waitresses? What about Sarah? — Shawn said, giving Chris a sly look.

— I'd make a joke about Leia and the fact that We live in the same house now, but I won't. I'll save your poor lover's heart, Farrokhi — Morris replied with a triumphant look at his friend and patted him on the shoulder.

Shawn didn't need to worry— Chris wasn't sleeping with Leia, even though the temptation was great.

— I wasn't really talking about her, but I was talking about her, too. The coach said that if you don't come to practice, he will throw you out of the team, — tried to soften this news with a friendly tone and pushing the cake to a friend.

— I don't care about bigfoots at all, you know that, — Chris replied, his lips clenched in silent anger: for some reason, everyone is against him. Getting into the bigfoots was an immeasurably difficult task, which Shawn fortunately managed after much agony, and to fly out right now would have been very stupid.

— I know, Chris, but you should talk to your coach. He wants me to tell you that I need to come to him after class — no matter how hard Shawn tried, he still made grammatical mistakes in the vast English language.

— I suppose you meant 'you'? — Chris corrected him. — It's better this way. But you really are doing great, fellow; I remember at the beginning of the year you couldn't even say the basic phrases, — Morris patted his friend's shoulder encouragingly.

Persian was Farrokhi's native language, but only Lea could fully understand Shawn, because once as a child, just after moving from France to Sydney, she had learned an unknown language from scratch. She was one of those who corrected him, not laughing, and silenced anyone who dared to make a single joke about his accent and English mistakes about Shawn.

— Do you know if Lea is coming to a certain Peggy's garage concert? — asked Farrokhi.

Peggy had been playing music since childhood, sometimes writing songs and going to all the parties with a lilac guitar — her favorite. Now she finally decided to hold a concert, but so far private-only for close friends — to practice and feel in public, even if not as numerous as Aldridge would like.

— I didn't ask her, — Chris said. - But I think Peggy has already called her.

***

Garage gatherings resembled performances in front of parents in kindergarten. Friends thoroughly tried: Chris with the help of Mr. Aldridge built a kind of low pedestal, resembling a stage, Lea sewed beautiful silk curtains, and Sean brought a colored lamp from Iran, replacing the concert lights and creating an incredibly cozy atmosphere. In the center of the garage, in front of the stage, were three chairs where Chris, Sean, and Lea sat.

— I feel a little awkward, but I hope it will pass — the girl said, blushing with excitement as she climbed on to the stage.

Melodies composed by Peggy for author's songs, adjusting to the pleasant Alto of the girl, caressed the ears of those who came, actively supporting a friend who was timid at first. A knock on the garage door interrupted the concert.

— Chris, can you open the door? — Peggy asked as she came down from the stage and walked over to Leia, who was holding a glass of water.

The guy lifted the garage door and froze in surprise. Probably, luck decided to change sides abruptly and help Morris in the difficult experience of photo shoots. Zoe was standing in front of him.

— Wow, I didn't expect to see you here, — the waitress said. — I live next door, I just wanted to ask you to turn it down.

— Okay

The girl was about to leave, but Chris could not miss this chance and stopped her.

— I'm sorry, Zoe, can you give me your phone number? — Chris left the garage so that the conversation would be out of sight of his friends. He didn't need to ask any more questions.

Zoe smiled as she took the phone from Chris and entered the number on the screen.

— Who was that? —Lea asked, taking a sip of her soda.

— Peggy's next door neighbor, —Morris said, and returned the call to Aldridge. — Do you know anything about her?

— Just the name.She just moved here, — Peggy shrugged as she sat down on the amplifier.

— You look so beautiful today, Lea, — Shawn said with a soft smile, trying to impress her the way the guys on the team had taught him, but the Frenchwoman only nodded curtly at the compliment and turned away, rolling her eyes.


	8. It's better for you

Chris was annoyed by a lot of things: with school, with endless lessons, people looking at you haughtily every time you passed, useless homework, and Leia. The fact that he couldn't control himself at the sight of her, and didn't want to, made him mad. Even now, he was not thinking about the upcoming photo shoot with an aquaphobic model, but about the naked back with its sharp shoulders and protruding neck vertebrae looming before his eyes. He wanted to touch her, run his fingertips along the cleavage between her shoulder blades, stop at the small of her back, and then do the same, just with his lips, tracing each vertebra with his tongue. The young man's gaze caught on a purple mark somewhere in the area of the tenth rib. It was so ugly, turning purple on the milky skin, and obviously not left by his lips. He tried to justify himself by telling himself that the stain was causing a storm in him only because it violated the aesthetics of Leia's soft skin, but no, he was annoyed by the fact that it was a hickey left by someone else's lips.

— Why don't you change in the bathroom?—Chris hissed, a little more viciously than he'd rehearsed in his head.

— What did you just say? — Lea thought theatrically, turning to face him. — Oh, right! Don't forget, Chris, you're in my house.

— I was talking about Smoking! — Don't apply my words to your naked catwalk. These are not equivalent things.

Chris didn't mind the sight of a naked girl's body. He actually liked it. He wasn't interested in Lea as a girl, was he? What's attractive about it? A biting nose with a hump, wide eyes, and a short stature? Still, there was something about her that made the guy's common sense take a back seat, something that made his heart pound again, whether it was the roundness of his thighs or a few protruding bones.

The sound of an incoming message interrupted his convulsive train of thought. Chris looked from his dark hair glinting in the light of the floor lamp to the phone. Familiar number — ends with a pair of eights. Zoe.

“So why do you need my number?” the screen flashed.

“Your appearance seemed interesting to me” — the young man wrote after a moment, — “and I wanted to offer you a photo shoot. Do you mind?”

"No, of course not)."

Morris's face broke into an involuntary smile. Now all I had to do was ask Carl for a waterproof camera and choose a location. He calculated the color scheme: he needed something dark to match the mood of the column itself. The pool in the basement of the Ann hotel came to mind. That's just hard to get there, and the prices are high by the standards of Blackpane, but there were guests there and, judging by the constant people coming out of there, a lot.

***

Cold coffee in an immaculate white cup filled the office with a wonderful aroma. Since that conversation between Leia and John, she had never missed work.

The fact that Blythe knew where her school was, was frightening. He might as well have found out Brossard's home address. And then how do you explain to your mother why the boss comes to her house and talks in high tones? Besides, John wouldn't have been happy to know that Chris and Leia were living together.

The girl opened the door to Blythe's office.

— Your coffee, — she said, setting the cup on the table and straightening her dark hair.

— Thank you, — murmured the young man. —Stay, I want to talk to you, — he said, patting his knee as he moved a little away from the table.

Lea hesitantly approached her boss. Her mouth got dry. He glared at her, taking in the surprisingly closed type of clothing that flaunted her body. A dark turtleneck with a high neck covered the effects of their night meetings, and a skirt of thick fabric that was about knee-length banished the obsession that Lea was actually a common whore, a "sex object" and nothing more. John pulled her toward him, his hand sliding to her hip, sliding under the thick fabric of her black skirt.

— We're at work, — Lea whispered under her breath, secretly hoping he hadn't heard.

— I don't like the war your hair looks like, — Blythe said calmly, lowering his voice a little. — It looks sloppy. I want you to straighten your hair, it will be better for you. Of course, you're already very beautiful, but I really want your hair to be straight. You know what I mean?

He pressed his lips to her neck, inhaling the scent of Leia's favorite old perfume, bought at an antique French store when she still lived there.

— Yes, it's probably going to look better on me — Brossard muttered, not understanding what she was saying. Straightening her hair every day, especially early in the morning, was a real torture, but she really liked straight hair more than curled curls.

— Good girl, — John breathed, biting his lips as he explored the girl's neck, pulling back the collar of her turtleneck. — I've missed you so much, Brossard.

— Me... too, — Lea said, confused by the soft touch, trying to figure out exactly what was happening to her at that moment.

— Really?

John turned her face toward him, tracing the sharp line of her chin with the tip of his finger.

She nodded softly, running the tip of her tongue over her lips, which were dry from wearing lipstick all the time. Blythe followed the seductive movement and gently bit into the girl's lips. Cherry stains from lipstick remained on his chin, cheeks and the cheeks bones. Grabbing the girl's firm thighs, he pulled her closer to him, pinning her to the table. The small bundle of papers that Karl had brought for signature fell to the floor. Lea hesitantly began to pull the light cardigan off John's shoulders, but a knock on the door interrupted her plans.

— Blythe! Where are the damn signatures and documents? I told you, it's urgent! — Carl shouted, tapping his foot on the expensive wood.

— Sorry, baby, he's not going to calm down. Can we continue tonight? — he kissed Leia, then gently set her on her feet and quickly began to sign the papers she'd thrown off the table.

***

It was the first time Chris had seen her in a dress.

She studied her reflection in the mirror, straightening her perfectly straightened hair, still hot from the Ironing, and his gaze immediately fell on the protruding collarbones. The dress was unadorned and chic: wine-colored, with thin straps and a beautiful neckline. The guy did not even think that somewhere in the wilds of her wardrobe there could be a dress, and even such a beautiful one, right for her girlish wrong figure.

Chris must have been too caught up in Brossard's unusual appearance to notice that she caught his eye.

— What are you looking at?"— Lea folded her arms.

— I wasn't looking at you.

Chris's mind raced uneasily to the farthest corners of his mind, unable to relax. Endless questions gnawed painfully inside: how will the photo shoot go? What should I do after that? Change your place of residence and phone number? Or intimidate the model with Karl's connections?

— Yes, of course, — Lea said, rolling her dark-tinted eyes. She took a cherry-colored lipstick from her dark clutch and ran it over her plump lips.

— Do I have to invent people? — Chris snapped irritably. — Who can you go to for your birthday?

Lying to a man who treated him like his own son would be piggish.

— Well, let’s say it’s going to be Peggy’s — The girl turned to face Morris and applied her favorite perfume to her slender neck and fragile wrists, which already smelled of the entire room.

— If you haven't forgotten, her birthday is the seventh of may, and today is the twenty-first of September.

Barely able to hide the excitement of the upcoming photo shoot and Leia's stunning appearance, Chris chattered and said incredibly stupid things. Of course, Lea hadn't forgotten that date. She couldn't forget it. When they were best friends, Brossard was the first to congratulate her and sing a funny song in French, lifting Peggy's spirits even during the crappy period of puberty, when it seems that the whole world is rapidly going to hell.

— Do you think mom remembers? She remembers my birthday only thanks to reminders on the phone — the Frenchwoman said bitterly, Recalling how she was once forced to celebrate a birthday in Paris with her grandmother, without receiving any congratulations from her mother and other relatives from America. A fragment of memory popped into my mind: she would run to the postman and open a card from Chris and Peggy with a trembling heart, with congratulations written in a child's handwriting, a pen that was about to run out. That day, she realized that sometimes friends can be closer than family, no matter how many kilometers between you.


	9. Take off your clothes

The whole dress code with the dress and beautiful makeup was a request from John, who probably wanted to take Leia to one of the few posh restaurants in Blackpane. However, all hopes were dashed against reality, and no one came for her. The girl stood on the street for about half an hour in a dress and black shoes with small heels, which Peggy gave her before one of the school balls. Lea tried not to lose her temper, but the dark foreign car was still missing, and every minute the Frenchwoman's eyes lost their luster.  
She was rarely courted, and the usual male attention she was deprived of (well, not counting drunken kickbacks in a bar, but this is not the attention she wanted). However, there was Shawn, who had recently arrived from Iran and brazenly took her place in the company — maybe that's why she did not like the green-eyed guy who was trying to please the French girl.  
— Lea, are you cold? — a thick male voice came from behind him, sounding a little frightening in the evening twilight. Startled, she turned and breathed a sigh of relief as she saw Sean standing in front of her.  
— Huh?.. God, Shawn, you scared me so much — this was probably the first time she'd ever called him by his first name,which made his green eyes widen.  
— Are you having a holiday? What is it? — he asked, taking in Leia's appearance and trying to hide his admiration. — As I recall, your birthday is in December, — he smiled, running a hand through his coiffed dark hair. From the outside, his desperate attempts to impress her looked extremely ridiculous,and Lea winced slightly.  
— No, I just… But what difference does it make to you? You were going somewhere, go, — she rolled her eyes involuntarily. Foolish habit.  
— Just, if you have no plans, well.... we could go there... you, more precisely, could go with me to my neighbor's party — the guy shifted from one foot to the other, and the feeling of awkwardness with each word grew in a lump in his chest.  
But Lea wasn't going to say no to Shawn. If John decided to give up on their so-called "date", then she has the right to do the same. I wonder whether she spent half the night on the charges?  
— Let's go, — the girl abruptly got up from the curb and looked expectantly at the guy surprised by the turn of the case. — You were going to go, weren't you?  
Leia's words convinced him that this was not a dream, not a figment of a lover's imagination, but a reality, and Shawn hurried after the French woman.  
— Will someone else from school be there or not? — the clatter of her heels sounded strange, echoing the deafening beating of her heart. The phone didn't ring, and she didn't see a passing car, which made her chest tingle.  
— No, Peggy, if only. Chris said he was busy today,— Shawn smiled softly and continued to stare at the girl in the light of the street lamps.  
The silence of the night filled the entire space around them, but this time it was not so deafening — rather, it was mysterious. The conversation didn't fit. Random thoughts raced through the young man's mind and, like shooting stars in August, instantly disappeared, replaced by others. However, Farrokhi was not a timid man, and he was in no hurry to back away from Leia just like that.  
— Do you miss France?  
— In different ways,— she said after a pause, and looked up into Sean's eyes. They were full of homesickness, so Brossard decided to keep the conversation going. — Did you ask this question because you miss Iran so much?  
— I often feel sad... Oh, I mean sad. I'm a bit confused about parts of speech, — he added sheepishly. — But when I'm with friends, I feel better.  
— The first year is always difficult. But I think you can handle all the difficulties, — Lea smiled, and the boy beamed.  
They reached the designated house. The room was spacious, without any hint of extra furniture, and it was Packed to capacity. There was a smell of alcohol and tobacco smoke, and loud music that people danced to in every available corner.  
A group of brightly painted cheerleaders sat at the makeshift bar. Tight clothing and short skirts accentuated their perfect forms, and smiles did not leave the faces animated by light alcohol and the party atmosphere. Lea noticed several guys huddled close to the girls, glaring at them in admiration, and snorted, not fully realizing that this reaction was just a defense mechanism. In her heart of hearts, she knew that she would never be like these girls, never get such male attention, and it made her feel bitter.  
In the crowd, they came across an alarmed Sarah, who, when she saw Shawn, began to ask him something, now and then adjusting the soft pink dress with thin straps. It took a lot of effort for her to be heard over the loud music coming from a nearby speaker. Not thinking it necessary to ask what happened, Lea began to make her way through the crowd to the mini-bar and caught the eye of several classmates, who did not miss the opportunity to notice that for the first time they saw a girl in an elegant dress.  
— Lea! — Peggy called out.  
She was standing in the aisle with a glass of punch in her hands, in the company of one whom the Frenchwoman did not want to see, and with a happy expression on her face waved to the newcomer. Next to her was Oprah Campbell, the perfect cheerleader with a toned body, upturned chin, and a never — ending supply of snarky remarks that were launched at any convenient (and inconvenient) moment. She looked like a bright splinter of a disco ball, her eyes were lined with black eyeliner, her thick dark hair was curled, and she wore red lipstick. One haughty glance from Oprah was enough to cause the irascible Leia a barely contained stream of obscenities  
— Oh, you know how to wear dresses! — The cheerleader chuckled, arching her perfectly defined, thick brows. — You surprise me every time, Brossard — she said, and took a sip from her champagne glass, turning her quizzical gaze to the pale blue and purple tips of Peggy's hair, which she used to touch up with a weak tonic every week.  
— You seem to know how to make people feel bad just by looking at you,— Lea said, looking at her from under her brows and exchanging a few kisses on the cheek with Peggy, a habit she'd brought back from France.  
— Girls, stop it! Aldridge murmured good-naturedly, pleased with her friend's appearance. — Let's just enjoy the music.  
— All right, Peggy, I have to go.. It was nice talking to you, — Oprah smiled, and Lea could have sworn it was the first time she'd ever seen such a smile on her face-without a trace of complacency or pompous weariness. It was a real, genuine smile.  
— She keeps asking me to be a cheerleader,— Peggy murmured thoughtfully, her relaxed smile still on her face. — Do I have such an outstanding ability to dance and hold pompoms? — she turned to Leia and, noticing the shoes that had been given to her for a long time, smiled more broadly, putting her arm around her friend's shoulders.  
— This is the first time I've seen Oprah invite anyone to her abode of debauchery, — the Frenchwoman laughed, picturing Aldridge in her cheerleading uniform, in the middle of a large field.  
The girls hadn't even had time to talk about Leia's transformation properly when Sean's voice came from behind her, sounding a little flustered and muffled. He put a warm hand on her bare shoulder and pointed toward the exit.  
—Lea, someone’s here to pick you up.  
Drawn by the young man, relaxed by the frivolous fun of the party, Brossard did not even say goodbye to her friend and, smiling confusedly, followed Farrohi, who was holding her hand.  
— What do you mean?"  
The familiar baritone voice, with a hint of irritation and weariness in it, made the smile instantly disappear from her plump lips.  
John was standing in front of her.  
— I'm sorry, are you sure you won't tell your parents? — Shawn's neighbor took a step forward, looking pleadingly at Blythe and pushing the girl toward the exit. The carefree party had turned into a dizzying mess. Previously, it seemed so incendiary and fascinatingly alive, loud music began to burden Leia's ears, to prevent her from correctly understanding what was happening around her. A few guys-Sean, his neighbor with a friend and John. Everyone treated Leia like a commodity, hurriedly passing her from the hands of the tenant to the hands of the owner.  
"Lea, is everything all right?" Sean tried to stop Leia's hand to see what was going on, but John gave him a scathing, arrogant look, as if Farrohi were no bigger than a bug, and brushed his hand off Leia's wrist.  
— Calm down, defender. I won't tell anyone, — John snapped, trying to get rid of the annoying young man as quickly as possible. —Come on, —he said to Leia, squeezing her arm painfully just above the elbow, and pulling her along with him.  
— How did you find me? What's the matter?— the girl asked as she sat in the car, completely soaked in it, and looked away from the dark brown eyes that were studying her.  
— This guy would have carried you to my car so I wouldn't have to tell my parents, —John chuckled as he drove away from the house, — and he'd have put you to bed with me.  
Lea cast a timid glance at the young man, and though she tried to remain calm, she felt a tingle in her chest as she saw his coldly indifferent expression and his eyes fixed straight on the road.  
— you know where I live? — she said weakly.  
— What makes you think I'm taking you home? — there was a steely edge to his voice.  
He probably wasn't taking her to one of the good restaurants, because they weren't on the main road.  
— Well, that would make sense, — she said, adjusting her hair, which was a little fluffed from the party. The remnants of her old self-confidence evaporated completely as John's reply reached her ear:  
— it would be logical to take the belt and hurt you, don't you think? I'm very disappointed in you, Lea — and he gripped the steering wheel to his white knuckles, biting his plump lip.  
He parked silently in front of the big dark house, got out of the car, and stood expectantly in front of the hood. Leia had no choice but to follow him, looking around warily. The house of the editor-in-chief of one of Seattle's most popular magazines looked chic, with a terrace, several floors, a spacious backyard and a high fence to hide such a chic house from the eyes of neighbors. There were lights hanging on the high fence, which were the only light element on his property. The path to the house was made of polished gray expensive stone, so it was not difficult for the Frenchwoman to walk on her heels. Blythe's home was two turns from the mayor's house, which was why everything that surrounded the site was a forest of bare, leafless trees. The guy walked quickly, only his dark curls fluttered in the gusts of cold wind from the river, which was very far from the house. As luck would have it, the night was really dark and quiet, as if it was a sign that there was no point in talking now, so they also walked in silence into a house with spacious rooms, large windows covered with dark curtains, and expensive furniture made of dark wood. Blythe gave the living room a bored glance and headed straight for the bedroom, pulling off his dark blue jacket as he went. He tossed it onto the couch, sat down, and looked at the girl standing across from him.  
— Get undressed, — he said. Not a request — but an order.  
— What? — she took a step forward, trying to calm the deafening thump of her heart. They hadn't had anything in the office since then, but Lea knew it was inevitable. She made him angry.  
— Don't act innocent! John said, rolling his eyes. — he took a step forward.  
With a smooth motion, he pushed the strands of his hair back, and she couldn't help but stare at the man's broad hands and long fingers, at the brown swirls on his head. As if bewitched, she took a step towards him, and, grabbing the Frenchwoman by the thin wrist, the brunette pulled her to him with a sharp movement, possessively squeezing the girl's waist.  
— Are you going to undress yourself, or do you want me to help you? — John hissed, and she had to strain her ears to catch the edge of annoyance in his voice. Not feeling able to say a word, she gave a curt nod, and a few dark, newly dyed strands fell straight down her cheeks.  
John turns her back to him, running his fingertips along the clasp on the dress that is so superfluous on the girl's body. He kisses the back of her neck, brushing the strands away from her face and cheekbones, then goes down to the vertebrae of her neck and slowly pulls the clasp down with his fingertips. And when Lea gets up stiffly, the piece of clothing falls to the floor like a velvet cloth right at her feet. It exposes a slender girl's body, with constellations of moles on the shoulders, a smooth line of protruding vertebrae and chic lace underwear. From such a sight, John only licks his lips, which are plump and dry from frequent sighs, it would be worth a titanic effort to look away from such a seductive picture. Black lace and translucent inserts in some places were the most winning combination on pale skin, occasionally "stained" with his marks. Blythe gets up abruptly from the couch, yanking the girl around, pinning her against the cold, dark wall.  
The glow from the bedside lamp falls directly on the curve of her waist, the beauty of her protruding thigh bones. The boss ran a broad hand along her body, as if appraising all the places that were not covered by her clothes. They didn't even kiss each other, there wasn't enough air. Whether from the proximity of someone else's body, or from the wet marks on the neck. Or from how the temperature in the bedroom has risen sharply. As if reading Leia's thoughts, the guy quickly kissed her on the lips, smearing her lipstick. The brunette's hands moved slowly up to the fabric of his white shirt, unbuttoning it with a certain amount of care. Every exposed part of Blythe's body made her cheeks turn red. Picking up Brossard somewhere around her hips, John lays her down on the dark, spacious bed in the middle of the bedroom, leaning on top of her, lowering his kisses to her breasts and below, covering them inch by inch of her skin, so that his saliva made her body glisten in the moonlight and this picture even more turned on Blythe. His punishment was based on the effect of a wave, gently,barely touching the surface of the water, and then a deafening,beating stream that filled every part of his body with fear. He associated her with a porcelain doll, just as small, with soft and fair skin. As carefully as with a doll, I tried to handle a sensitive body, but it was difficult to cope with emotions and sharply surging excitement. John's shirt slowly slid off his shoulders, revealing a smooth line of collarbones, broad shoulders, and a youthful, moderately sinewy body. Hesitating, Lea ran her hand along the guy's stomach and he looked at her expectantly, waiting for more action. Her hands quickly found the belt of her trousers and began to unbutton it rather slowly, deliberately calm, but Byte's blood was boiling, so he abruptly turned her over on her stomach, kissing her along the spine, stopping his hand on the straps of her dark bra. He quickly faked the dark strips of fabric, pulling them down from his shoulders, pushing aside the interfering garment and lowering his trousers abruptly entered, deliberately causing the girl physical pain. Her hands gripped the black cotton bedclothes, squeezing them between her fingers. John's sudden movements made his lower abdomen ache. The tremors intensified with each sob of the girl, here it is a wave, a raging element, from which it is absolutely impossible to get out of Brossard. He hooks his thin neck, which vibrates with guttural screams, and leans in close to her ear  
— I told you to wait for me outside the house, and you disobeyed me — his tone became rougher and his thrusts shorter. — Lea, you disobeyed me!  
— John, you didn't come, — the girl's breath was lost, so the phrases reached the guy only in snatches, and from anger her fingers clenched and unclenched the neck of the guilty one.  
— I wrote to tell you I'd be late. Where's your phone? John lifted Leia's hips, changing the angle of the entrance. The tremors did not abate, only intensified. The Frenchwoman was driving the guy crazy, her hair, her smell, her body, the way she shuddered at his touch and the way she looked away every time he tried to catch him. It was all his personal brand of banned substances.  
— I... don't know,— Lea said, only now realizing that the last time she'd seen a cell phone at home, it was probably still there, and the guilt and anger in her body were stronger, the tremors less harsh, and she was listening to John's heavy breathing in her ear.  
— If you go out again, your neighbor will be out of work, and you'll be out with him. I'll talk to every publisher and you won't even be hired as cleaners, — Blythe squeezed his hair so hard that a groan involuntarily escaped his parted lips  
— Yes, I understand you, John, it's really my fault. I'm sorry, this won't happen again, — the guy's grip softened and his palm slid along the flat stomach. The kisses became softer, and the tone dropped to a whisper. For the first time, Lea felt a genuine fear for herself, Chris, and Mrs. Morris. As if seeing how much he had scared his secretary, the guy stroked her hair soothingly, kissing her temple and going down to her cheek. Laying her on her back, he continued slowly, kissing her bitten and slightly salty lips. The tsunami is over, so far without casualties.  
— I'm sorry, Lea, I'm sorry — John whispered on exhale to her somewhere in the mouth. The fear now lingered in the back of his mind, blunted at the moment by the rush of physical pleasure.


	10. Water

It seemed impossible to choose a more gloomy state of nature than on this day. Standing on the porch of the cafe where Zoe worked, bag in hand and briefcase slung over his shoulder, Chris watched intently as the autumn rain poured its sadness over Blackpane. There was a strange feeling in the boy's broad chest, a strong mixture of fear, anger, and despair. And as much as he wanted to get rid of the thought, he vaguely guessed there was a hint of shame in the feeling. Squeezing the throat, tormenting the heart, making the legs give way.

He uses it. Uses her fear. "But it's for a good purpose, isn't it?" the young man tried to calm himself, and immediately received a dry answer from his conscience: "If your goal is the cause of the suffering of others, how can it be good?»

“Hey! Sorry it took so long” he heard the voice of the waitress.

Chris turned around. Before the photo shoot, Zoey tried on her image, which, in general, was expected: beautiful curly curls and a slight glow in the cheekbones, giving the face more freshness, looked very advantageous on the blemish-free skin, and a white blouse with a soft green floral pattern and a long linen skirt complemented the image of a forest fairy, which, it seems, the girl aspired to. "If only you knew what awaits you," — flashed in my head of a young man.

"It's okay” he smiled, pushing the dark thoughts away. For this beauty I am willing to wait for the rest of my life.

"You're so cute," she said. "So where do you suggest we go?" I think it's too dark outside for a photo shoot... or am I wrong? — What's the matter? " she asked, glancing at the boy with a mischievous expression.

"I work in the newsroom, so I can afford to take you to a good studio," Chris said, nervously adjusting the strap of his briefcase. In the distant corridors of his mind, he could hear the voice of reason, fervently telling him that it was not too late to stop, but fear for his mother's condition subconsciously drove him to such a terrible act.

“I'm looking forward to winter, to be honest. Autumn, of course, is also beautiful, but I love winter more" Zoe commented, looking at the bare crowns of trees, puddles and wet paths, breaking the deafening silence of the late evening.

“Yes? Why not? For me, it's so cold, icy…”

“You're looking too narrow. What about the atmosphere? Snowflakes, light frost on the windows in the morning?” Looking at her again, Chris realized that she was the epitome of winter: cold fingertips, blond hair, low-key lashes, and gray eyes.

"I don't like Christmas, if that's what you mean," he grimaced, remembering the black cab, Leia and Peggy's tears mixed on his shoulder, the cloying smell of long — ago separation that had permeated all his holidays.

“Why not?"

"Come on, it's getting late," Chris muttered instead.

... The clear, dim-lit water in the pool glinted on the walls of the small room where Chris and Zoe had descended. The young man walked somewhat jauntily deeper into the basement and, dropping his bags in the corner, took out a massive camera — a gift from his mother for her seventeenth birthday. Pursing his lips, he began to adjust the camera.

"The pool?" Chris, what's going on? Zoe asked worriedly, looking up at the guy with gray eyes that clearly showed concern. — You know I'm…

“You're not going to go into the water, don't worry about this. I'll do it. Just, you know, the water creates a glare, illuminating your beauty, revealing the whiteness of your skin and hair” Chris ran a hand down her cheek. "Just trust me, okay?"

Damn manipulation. He had immediately noticed her low self-esteem: the stiffness in her movements, the faltering voice - now resolutely loud, now embarrassingly quiet, the thick, beautiful hair always hidden in a bun, the deep blush on her cheeks at any, even the slightest, compliment, and the eyes lowered to the floor.

"Okay," she murmured, and smiled uncertainty, feeling her cheeks burn — either from the proximity of the water or from the boy's words.

Cris stripped off his extra clothes and waded into the water:

"Sit on the side. Don't worry, I've got you " and he smiled-insincerely, sweetly, making himself sick.

After a tense glance at the smooth surface of the pool and Chris standing shoulder-deep in it, Zoe sat down on the edge and touched the water with her fingertips, holding out a trembling hand to the young man. Her breathing quickened, and her heart began to race. As if petrified, she stared at a single point in front of her, and her cheeks began to turn red with a sharp rush of blood. His gray eyes were round, and his face showed nothing but the utmost tension. After taking a few photos, Chris pulled back a little, looked at the resulting photos and realized that this was not what Carl was so desperate for. Chris was pretty sure she was under a lot of stress right now, but it was the photos he'd come here for.

"Make up your mind, Morris. Make up your mind."

Abruptly squeezing Zoe's hand, he pulled her under the water with him and, hastily focusing the camera, took several quite successful, in his opinion, photos. The girl's hands were frantically tossing in the water, creating foam and a large number of small bubbles, but the guy continued to hold her hand. After taking a few more shots, he felt an acute lack of oxygen and only then allowed her to surface.

Her blond hair was plastered to her face, her plump lips were shaking from the stress she'd endured, and her face was contorted with horror. Christopher himself was shaking from the experience: he had never seen someone's phobia attack, but now it would not be uncommon for him. He took the helplessly floundering girl by the waist and helped her out of the ill-fated pool.

The model immediately went into a sharp coughing fit, trying to clear her lungs of excess water, but the coughing abruptly turned into convulsive sobs. Her shoulders were shaking, and her head was pressed against the cold tile. She was so depressed that Chris wanted to leave — right now, to get away from the shame and anger that filled his soul.

He didn't touch the girl. He quietly left the building, leaving a dry towel and a bottle of water right outside the pool.

Somewhere in his chest, a black lump was growing, giving Chris a generous feeling of nausea. I wanted to lean over the toilet, empty my essence of this disgusting situation and start living on. With a clean slate.


	11. Unstable

The silence of the street was broken by the sound of a black car approaching a dark alley. Its headlights cut defiantly through the dimness of the suburban street. Lea begged John not to take her directly to the door, and some even let to walk to the other end of the city, but he did not support the initiative of the girl, and ultimately agreed that they will reach the crossroad, and from there, Lea just a few minutes walk to the house.  
"Did you find your phone?" John asked as he stopped the car.  
"Yes, it's here –" she said, gesturing at the tiny bag clutched in her slender fingers. "Thanks for the ride," she said with a small smile on her face.  
"Before you go, give me the phone for a minute," John said, reaching into the glove compartment of the car and pulling out a pack of cigarettes.  
“Why?"  
Brossard tensed slightly, taking her time to open the veil of personal secrets hidden in the small piece of metal and plastic, but she pulled out her phone. In response, John grinned in exasperation, puffing out a puff of smoke that immediately filled the cabin with the stifling smell of smoke, and held out an expectant palm to Leia. The girl reluctantly put the phone in it.  
“Why are you so nervous?" There is something to hide?  
"All people have something to hide," Lea said, her lips pressed together, her gaze fixed intently on the young man's burning eyes.  
“I have no secrets from you. Do you want me to give you my phone number? John whispered, his fingertips brushing her sharp chin. – I'd better find out all your secrets now, because sooner or later it will happen, and the later, the worse it will be for both of us."  
"Nine-oh-four-eight," she muttered, looking away and mentally reproaching herself for giving up so quickly under the pressure of the blackmail hidden behind the pretty words.  
“What?" Blythe said softly, catching the pleasant scent of the shower gel she'd used to shower at his house.  
“Passcode”  
As he studied the girl's photos, texts, and phone calls, she could almost feel John rummaging through her soul, and the feeling of something alien stirring in her chest made her gag. Finally, Blythe turned his gaze to the Frenchwoman's sharpened face.  
"Look at this," he said mockingly. "What a touching message! And guess who my girl wanted to send it to? None other than the already familiar Christoffer Morris…”  
The joking tone faded as soon as John said Chris's name. His face instantly took on a menacingly serious expression that made her chest go cold.  
"What the hell, Lea?" he said slowly, enunciating each word.  
"What exactly is wrong?" Brossard said, trying to keep the excitement out of her voice. "Chris is my neighbor, a childhood friend. I can't text him?"  
John exhaled heavily, pursing his lips, and touched the girl's arm:  
"You probably still don't understand..." he gently ran the pads of his fingers over the inside of her palm and squeezed it in his strong hand. "You're my girl. Just mine, do you hear? I will protect you from our evil world, but you must admit that I can't do that without trusting you. And such messages cause me distrust.”  
The tangle of their fingers, the feel of a warm hand, melted the excitement in her chest.  
"You won't do it again, will you?" John asked, looking into her eyes.  
”No” she looked at him  
"Good girl, here you go. Text me when you get home.”  
John kissed her softly, brushed the strands of dark hair from her face with a careful gesture, and smiled.  
Slamming the door, Lea sauntered toward the house, listening to the sound of her heels on the asphalt. She tried to describe her feelings for John, but she couldn't – not because she didn't want to, but because she genuinely didn't understand how a guy should behave around her. Probably due to lack of experience and conversations with my mother and friends on this topic.  
For the past few years, the girl had mostly moved around while her mother built a career working in schools, and the only thing she could do was read lectures on the dangers of smoking and alcohol. Leia didn't have any close friends. Peggy was a little further away from her than she could have imagined, and the French girls she knew were completely forgotten in the midst of personal problems and school routines.  
Distracted by her own thoughts, the girl did not immediately notice the man sitting on the porch of her house with a familiar pack of cigarettes in his hands.  
"If you're going to smoke in front of my house, I suggest you look for a place in the cemetery right away," Lea said, recognizing Chris in the dark silhouette, not hiding the slight smile that lit up her face. It had been a long time since they'd seen each other, probably since the night they'd said nasty things to each other.  
"Thanks for the tip," Chris chuckled, and took a thin cigarette from the pack.  
"No, Chris, I'm serious. Let's go to the river, " the girl suggested, looking around for the black car. Fortunately, John had already left.  
"Shall we go? I don’t think I’ve ever invited you" The young man got up from the steps and brushed invisible dust from his trousers.  
“Then give me back my pack and go wherever you want”  
Lea stepped close to her neighbor and reached for the pack, which he instantly raised over his head. He had a clear advantage over her in terms of height – he was about a head taller, and besides, he could easily lift her as if she weighed nothing.  
“I’m just kidding, Lea, calm down”  
The very phrase gave each of them a sense of deja vu. Just as they had that night when they had stood close together in the little closet, only now they were illuminated not by the dim lamp in the corner of the room, but by the dim light of a street lamp.  
"Come on," Brossard said, deliberately slow and low, as if inviting Chris to come even closer, to lean closer to her lips, to listen to the pleasant timbre, but no-she takes a step to the side, heading for the Oposite River.  
Once there was a playground, but soon the authorities realized that for children there is not the safest place. Slides and swings were replaced by benches and paths between trees, along which young people were happy to scurry in the evenings, holding hands and giving each other unforgettable kisses in the semi-darkness.  
Chris and Lea walked there in silence, each alone with the problems they wanted to put out of their minds along with the smoldering bull. Taking a bench on the riverbank, the young man took out cigarettes and handed the first one to the lady who sat next to him in a gentlemanly manner. The silence weighed on my ears.  
“Do you remember a time when there was no playground? There was a small forest park with a hunting lodge in the back, remember?”  
"I remember something like that," Lea said, exhaling a white cloud of smoke. There were traces of cherry lipstick on the white filter. "But what happened to that cabin and the woodsman?" What was his name… Mr. Su…”  
"Mr. Brad Sweeney," Chris said thoughtfully, remembering the carefree summer days he'd spent years ago in the woods near his cabin. "He was dating the mayor's daughter, but he didn't like him, and in order to get the suitor away from his daughter, his father sent him out of this city…”  
“What happened to the daughter?”  
“I don't know. He hasn't been mayor for a long time, about four years, I think.”  
Silence once again filled the space around them, except for the sound of water running and the rustle of fallen leaves driven by a faint breeze. They both knew what they were supposed to be talking about: not discussing old town gossip, but apologizing for all the things they said to each other  
“How is your mom?”  
“Stable in some way”  
Taking a drag on his cigarette, Morris let out a steady stream of white smoke, surprising his neighbor by not bending over in a fit of coughing. After a pause, she said:  
“I'm sorry, really.”  
The girl's words were jarring. She couldn't remember the last time she'd apologized – and in plain text. The moonlight reflected in crystal clear water and the glare fell full on the face of Leah, getting tangled in her dark hair.  
"It's not your fault, so don't worry," Chris said, catching her interested gaze.  
"No, I'm talking about that night… When I brought the lasagna. I said so many terrible things to you back then – " Lea bit her lip to calm her excitement. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to hurt you.  
"Yes, I didn’t say the nicest things to you either…”  
The boy threw the smoldering bull into the trash can next to the shop and turned to the girl to examine her features. For a few seconds they just enjoyed the sound of the water and the cool wind, looking at each other with genuine regret and a sense of relief in their hearts, thinking about all the events that had happened in the last three weeks that had changed their lives so much, but the eye contact dragged on – and Chris unconsciously ran his hand over the sharp line of her cheekbones and pulled her closer.  
They merged in a desperate kiss that gave them a sense of euphoria – if only for a few minutes. The soft battle of tongues, the touch of warm fingers on cold skin, the taste of cigarettes, Leia's sweet lipstick, and the bleach from the pool where Chris was-no matter how wrong they thought it was, they felt good here and now, in each other's company, and they didn't care about the whole world.


End file.
